<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Music Echoes in the Night by WordsAndWishes</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28253445">Music Echoes in the Night</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/WordsAndWishes/pseuds/WordsAndWishes'>WordsAndWishes</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Ending, Angst, F/M, So much angst, minor mention of attempted suicide, post ACOWAR</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 19:14:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,142</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28253445</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/WordsAndWishes/pseuds/WordsAndWishes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Rhysand died forging the Cauldron. Feyre is left behind to pick up the pieces, and even years later, she is still haunted by memories. One night, she finds herself gazing out at the city with nothing to distract her from what she has lost.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Feyre Archeron/Rhysand</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>31</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Music Echoes in the Night</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>For an anon request on tumblr - the prompt was "this is as good a place to fall as any" from the Florence and the Machine song "Bedroom Hymns." There is some major projection and catharsis on my part here. Lots of angst and largely unedited, but I'm proud of it all the same. I hope you enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was the end of another infinitely long day, and Feyre found herself on the roof of the townhouse. The same place she had spent lazy nights with Rhysand, curled up with the stars until dawn. They had once promised each other infinite nights like this, filled with love and whispered secrets and lazy touches.</p><p>This time, she was alone.</p><p>She had gone out into Velaris by herself today, walked the streets, and been with her people in a way that she hadn’t in years. It had left her bone-weary deep in her soul. After the war, when what was left of her family returned to Velaris, she had been too broken by her grief to mingle with her people. The only thing she was aware of was the emptiness of the void in her head where such life had once flowed. The funeral had been hell, numbness coating her mind and tongue when the priestess asked if she would say a few words.</p><p>After she had finally picked herself up, convinced herself to keep going, there was so much to be done. Simply going for a walk never seemed to make the list.</p><p>Mor had kept Velaris running for years, but she didn’t rule the entire court. And Feyre had never run anything of the sort. It wasn’t long after he was gone that she realized how much Rhys had left to teach her, how much he had not known himself. It had been exhausting as she turned all her energy on fixing the Court instead of looking inward at the dark shards within herself.</p><p>She learned as best as she could from Mor and Lucien what it took to rule. She worked to heal rifts with the Hewn City, who barely recognized her as High Lady, and with Illyria, who only began to respect her once she showed what she was capable of. When they had time, she did physical training with Cassian. Continuing to explore the facets of her magic had been harder. The two beings who might have taught her something more about it were gone. She had mostly found more mastery over flame, Lucien a willing teacher. They had both been in need of plenty distraction.</p><p>So for the most part, she gave herself over to her court. They deserved that much. It was nights like these when she allowed herself self-pitying, angry, sorrowful moments. Just her, the night sky, and a bottle of whiskey she had swiped from Rhys’s huge stash. The roof seemed as good a place to fall as any. To ask the Cauldron why so much of the good in her life had been taken. To ask why she always seemed to end up alone.</p><p>Because Rhys…Rhys had been taken from her. She had loved him with a passion and fury she knew had been called foolish. But the only foolish thing about their love was how she hadn’t seen the end coming. Hadn’t realized that he would sacrifice everything he had to heal the cleaved Cauldron. And when Rhys was truly gone, and even trying to bring him back as he had done with her hadn’t worked – she didn’t reflect on those moments. Ever.</p><p>Didn't think about how still his chest had been. </p><p>How the bond between them was not just quiet, but torn in two. Because she could not stay with him.</p><p>Feyre had survived poverty, Amarantha, and being made, the Ouroboros, and the War. She had been born a fighter.</p><p>It hadn’t stopped her from reaching for a knife to turn on herself on that battlefield. It had been in the moments when everyone else was too distracted. Azriel had only just stopped her, and there were days she could still feel the sharp kiss of the blade on her chest.</p><p>Most of the time – most of the time she was glad she hadn’t done it.</p><p>A breeze came up, and Feyre shivered. The backs of her thighs were beginning to dig into the roof.</p><p>In the emptiness of the weeks that had followed, she found that she hated silence. Because there was never again going to be passed jokes and musings down that bridge of gold. Never again going to be music sent to her in her darkest moments.</p><p>The townhouse became emptier as well.</p><p> Amren had sacrificed herself to end the war. Elain had eventually left Night to pursue a life of travel, slowly healing from the horrors she had witnessed. Lucien was building alliances on the continent, though only after he had been convinced that she wasn’t going to fall apart. Nesta…was complicated. She still lived in Velaris, off of accounts Feyre kept filled, but she barely saw her sister anymore. Feyre wasn’t sure which one of them was more broken, some days.</p><p>Mor needed out of Velaris too. Feyre knew she was losing her mind. Though no physical wards kept her here as they once had, she couldn’t abandon the duty she had. Because she didn’t think Feyre was strong enough.</p><p>Feyre still doubted herself every step of the way. Because in the end, she did blame herself. She had made a bad choice with what mattered the most, hadn’t seen that his final “<em>I love you” </em>was not a declaration, but a goodbye.</p><p>He had known what she would want to believe, apparently known her better than she had known him.</p><p>She had always been a fool for a happy ending. Had always wanted it for herself. Her mate had helped her believe that she deserved it until she saw it herself. She had been a dreamer in a Court of Dreams.</p><p>Feyre watched the city below, taking a swig of the whiskey. There was a revel in the streets a few blocks away, the beautiful, seductive music taking away the emptiness that lingered in her head.</p><p>The Night Court needed a strong leader. They deserved someone who dreamt of a better world, who wasn’t falling apart. And as much as she was unqualified, she knew she had to learn. And as much as she had wanted to let the world fall away as she descended into her grief – she had made a vow. To Rhysand, to her people, to herself. To deny that – it would make her an utter failure.</p><p>So, she had forced herself to become that person, and learn to lead, to play the games of Court. To heal wounds the war had ripped open. A leader with an iron heart and mask of steel.  </p><p>The one thing she couldn’t learn again was how to forgive. She couldn’t forgive Tamlin, or Hybern, or herself. No matter how much Mor and Elain beseeched her. Elain had dragged her to the same mind-healer that she had been seeing in Dawn. Not a daemati – but someone who focused on emotional and psychological wellness. After a few visits, she had stopped going.</p><p>She needed closure, Elain had told her. It was easy for her to say. Every inch of this place didn’t remind her of their father. How could you find closure when the wound was ripped open again every day?</p><p>Another swig of whiskey and the music grew louder. A sob hiccupped in her throat, and she pushed it down. She wasn’t drunk enough to stop caring yet, and if she started crying now she would never stop.</p><p>She wondered how the history books would be written, sometimes. Human and Fae alike. Would the fae praise how she had defeated Amarantha, or as time went on, would the ballads and stories be edited and brushed under the rug to hide how helpless the faeries had really been? Would they tell how she fought her way across that bloody plain, each swing of her sword for a better world?</p><p>Would the elegies they painted eulogize Rhysand properly?</p><p>Would they tell how she had let him die?</p><p>She shook her head violently, strands of hair shaking free from the tight braid she had pulled it back into. She had cut it to shoulder length a few weeks after the war – practically a cliché from one of the books she had read. Since then, she had never let it grow back out.</p><p>She wouldn’t let herself think of all she hadn’t done now. She had done that enough – days where nightmares tore her from sleep and she replayed those minutes on the battlefield over and over, trying to find a different way.</p><p> Instead, she thought back to what that healer had told her at the Dawn Court. She had given Feyre breathing exercises that she couldn’t remember now, and she had told Feyre that it was okay to talk about him. It had all seemed so useless at the time.</p><p>Elain had found catharsis in it, though. She didn’t just talk about their father – she talked <em>to </em>him, she had confided.</p><p>Another swig of whiskey – longer, this time. It burned as it went down, and it made her buzzed enough to want to try anything.</p><p>“Rhys?” She whispered, so softly. She had never – never spoken to him like this. Screaming his name as she was torn from his arms in every last nightmare, yes. But this - she had always thought it would hurt too much.</p><p>“I hope that you’re happy, Rhys.” She knew that he thought he was Lord of Nightmares, that wherever he went after he died wouldn’t be pleasant. It was something she had been working to slowly changed his mind about, making him see that he wasn’t damned.</p><p>“I’m sorry that I didn’t stop you – didn’t realize until it was too late. I didn’t find any other way. I know – I know that you wouldn’t have had it any other way. That you didn’t want to stop me. But I’m so sorry and I will never stop regretting and <em>hating </em>myself for it –” Her words broke off with a sob as she finally let the tears come. “And if you can somehow hear this – I just need you to know that I will never stop loving you. And I’m trying my best to fill the void you left behind, to be the leader everyone needs me to be.” For a while, the only sound was her breathing and the distant music as her words were swallowed up by the night.</p><p>She sniffed a little. “Do you remember our last night up here? It was just a few days before we left. Did you know you wouldn’t be back?” Another long pause, like she was giving him time to reply. “I’m sure even then you were planning. But I just remember – we were up here, it was a night a lot like this. No wine or lingerie – it was just us, the stars, and the city. I fell asleep up here, in your arms. You told me stories of your adventures years ago. The time you and Azriel got lost in Malwich and – well, I never heard the end of it. I was so exhausted. Do you think Az would tell it to me if I asked him?”   </p><p>Silence echoed as the distant song wound down.</p><p>“I miss you.” She said quieter than ever, barely a breath. “You spent your last breaths telling me that you loved me…and I never said it back. Because I thought I would have a million more times to say it, and so you never heard it that final time even though I’m sure you knew –“ Snot plugged up her nose and she sniffed again, voice ugly and cracking. “I love you, Rhysand.”</p><p>She buried her head in her arms as the music slowly started up again. It slowly grew louder until she could make out a familiar tune.</p><p>Feyre could have laughed. It wasn’t the music Rhysand had sent her Under the Mountain. It was an echo of it, an answer to the original piece’s question. The haunting melody and drifting notes filled her head and her soul. They chased out the awful silence and made her feel new, if only for a moment.</p><p>She recalled back when she was human, laying in her cell as that music floated down. She had drifted somewhere in the clouds, seen faces she couldn’t make out. Just as it had been then – as she gazed out at the unclouded sky, she could have sworn she saw Rhysand peering back at her with love in his eyes – for just a moment.</p><p>Perhaps just a trick of her eyes, of a desperate soul. But as she gazed up at those bright stars, she didn’t stop the tears from falling.</p><p>
  <em>I love you, Rhys. </em>
</p><p>She stayed out there long after the music had died down until she could see a hint of dawn’s rosy hue rising over the Sidra. The memory of the song echoed in her head, keeping the silence at bay.</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>